


Fight or Flight

by druscilla



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Bipolar Disorder, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Moment in time, Relationship Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-09
Updated: 2015-11-09
Packaged: 2018-04-30 19:49:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5177531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/druscilla/pseuds/druscilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patrick loves Pete, but it's all starting to be too much and Pete's starting to realize it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fight or Flight

Patrick was still sitting up when Pete made it home around half past six in the morning. His eyes were red from crying and his nails were bit down to the quick. He didn’t even stand up when he heard the door open; he was too exhausted. His eyes flicked to the dark haired boy, who smiled broadly and didn’t seem to notice how wrong it all was.

“You’re up early.”

“Late,” Patrick corrected, his throat scratchy and painful from screaming into the emptiness. “You didn’t answer my calls. You said you were going to the store. You were out all night. I called hospitals and they hung up on me.” His voice was starting to rise in pitch and volume with each sentence until he was screaming and pushing himself up to his feet. “Where the fuck were you?!”  
Pete blinked. “You’re not my mom,” he said flatly.

“Like you treat your mother with any more respect than me,” Patrick spat at him. “Fuck you. I’m going to bed.” He slammed the door behind him and was asleep within minutes, cheeks dry because he didn’t have any tears left.

Pete stood there, white hot anger boiling in the pit of his stomach as his hands clenched into fists. He punched the doorway and then fell against it, clinging to it desperately as the anger gave way to the guilt and the shame and all the tears Patrick had cried alone in the night.

Pete had turned his phone off. He’d driven to a park. He’d walked around in the dark. He’d half hoped to get mugged just so he’d be forced to have a fight or flight moment and feel _something_. He’d gotten back in the car and checked his calls, deleted Patrick’s voicemails without listening to them. He turned it back off and went to sleep in the backseat for a few hours. He went to IHOP at four and had breakfast alone. The waitress had flirted. He’d flirted back but then ducked out when she went to the bathroom. He left a good tip. Then he started the drive home, stopping at Starbucks and getting distracted watching a couple quietly fight in the corner.

Pete slowly straightened himself up and dried his eyes, walking to the bathroom and washing his face in the sink. He slipped into the laundry room and changed his clothes, leaving his shoes and socks off and quietly sneaking down the hallway and into their bedroom.

The younger boy didn’t stir when Pete grabbed a blanket from the closet (Patrick had fallen asleep on top of the comforter) and spread it over him, slipping underneath and gently stroking the hair that had fallen against the other boy’s forehead. “You should leave me,” he whispered.

No response, no movement, just the sound of their breaths mingling in the room. He must have fallen asleep because when he woke up the space next to him was empty. He went out to the living room. He called Patrick’s name.

Silence.

His car wasn’t in the garage. Pete texted him. Then he called him. Then he called him again.

He sat down in the couch, twisting the phone in his hands. He couldn’t decide if patrick was trying to give him a taste of his own medicine or not. It was so unlike the other boy to resort to meanness to teach Pete a lesson, but he didn’t usually get that mad either. Pete flipped through his sent texts. It had been almost twenty minutes.

An hour later, the door opened and Patrick appeared with a few bags of groceries. “Hey,” he mumbled to Pete as he walked into the kitchen to start putting things away. The older boy followed him.

“I’m sorry.”

“You should be,” Patrick replied, only his back visible from where he was standing in front of the pantry.

Pete winced. He deserved that. He deserved all of it. Patrick just rarely let him have it. He moved slowly, but he closed the space between them and wrapped his arms around the other boy’s chest, resting his cheek against Patrick’s neck.

“I fucked up. I’m not going to ignore your calls again. I promise.” He took a deep breath. “I don’t mean to hurt you.”

“You scared me.” Patrick’s voice cracked and one of his hands came up to grab at Pete’s. “You don’t know how often I worry that you’re dead. It’s not fucking funny,” he added bitterly. He still couldn’t cry.

Pete’s head jerked back in shock and he twisted the younger boy around to face him. “Why would you worry about that?”

Patrick gave a choked laugh. “Because you do stupid shit all the time. You’re going to jump off something and break your neck. Or get mad at the wrong driver on the interstate. Or go for a walk at two in the morning and get shot.” Pete flinched and Patrick threw his hands up in exasperation, knowing exactly what it meant. “See? You don’t fucking think. You’re Pete Wentz. Nothing can happen to you. And if it does. Oh well. What’s it matter? You’ll be dead and you won’t have to deal with me anymore!”

Patrick shoved him, hands flat against his chest and Pete grabbed them, pulled the younger boy to him, holding tight to his wrists as he struggled. “Please, ‘Trick.”

“Please _what?”_

Pete didn’t know. He needed a minute. Or a day. Or a week. “Just let me hold you for a second, please?” Patrick seemed like he might resist, but he just sighed and fell into the other boy, hands pulled to his chest, letting one of Pete’s hands tangle in his hair while the other ran down his back. “I love you.”

“I know,” Patrick whispered. “I love you, too. But I’m so fucking tired, Pete. I’m so tired.”

“I’ll do better,” Pete promised, his voice shaking. “Just don’t leave me, okay? Please?”

There was a pause. A real pause. A long pause where Pete’s heart started to beat so hard he knew Patrick could hear it.

“I won’t,” he said finally.

Pete could hear how tired he was. He knew next time Patrick might not say it. He knew he was finally running out of chances. His fingers gripped Patrick’s shoulder tightly. “I promise. I swear.”

“I love you,” Patrick said again, straightening up and bringing a hand up to touch Pete’s cheek gently. He took a deep breath and seemed to put himself back together. “So let’s just eat and start over tomorrow, okay?”

Pete nodded. He didn’t know if Patrick believed him. He probably wouldn’t believe him. But the younger boy smiled and leaned in to kiss him softly on the mouth. “I got the shrimp thing you like.”

Pete smiled. Patrick still loved him.


End file.
